


take a running start

by glowinghorizons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Season/Series 01, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: “Goddammit, Clarke.” He curses loudly, taking three steps to cross her tent and get to her, reaching for her arm before he can stop himself. She’s freezing. “What the fuck are you thinking? Where are your blankets?”


  “Jasper--” She starts, her teeth chattering. “Jasper needed one. He needs it more than I do.”


  “Fuck that. You’re our only doctor, Clarke, what are we supposed to do if you die of exposure?”


  “I’m not going to die.”


  “Damn right you’re not,” Bellamy mutters, before he bends down to pick her up, ignoring her yelp. “We’re going to my tent, where I have blankets, and it’s not negotiable.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> _**A/N:** Cold weather bed sharing. Pure, teeth-rotting fluff. Set in season 1._

Bellamy forces himself to keep moving on patrol, convinced that if he keeps walking, his feet won’t go numb. He can see his breath and his fingers feel cold to the bone even as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. 

Walking by a few tents he knows are used by younger kids, he pokes his head inside quietly, and panics for a second when the tent is empty, only to hear a whisper from the tent next to it. “Bellamy?”

He takes a few steps to his left and pulls back the flap carefully, seeing four of the younger kids curled up together, wrapped in blankets and as many warm clothes as they were able to trade for and salvage from the bunkers. “Go back to sleep, Myla.” Bellamy says. “Are you guys warm enough?”

“Better now that we’re sharing,” Myla says, bunching the blanket up underneath her nose. She can’t be more than twelve. It reminds Bellamy of Octavia, curled up with him in his bed on the nights when the Ark would cut the heating in the manufacturing stations, and they could practically see their breath in their apartment.

“Make sure you guys stay together, and don’t go outside unless you absolutely have to. It’s too cold.” Bellamy instructs, feeling his teeth start to chatter. Once he’s sure they’re all tucked in and won’t be getting up to go out any time soon, he heads back towards his tent. 

It’s too cold for even the Grounders to attack, he thinks bitterly, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about trading off on watch for Miller, who looks barely awake, but seems to be bundled up well enough to keep warm. On his way to his tent, he passes Clarke’s and stops when he sees the faint glow of a lantern on. Frowning, he wonders why she’s still awake, and then stops himself, his throat feeling thick.

He doesn’t really know how to be around Clarke anymore after everything that happened with Charlotte, and Murphy, and Wells. It was all so messed up. None of this was supposed to happen. He doesn’t hate Clarke, but he still resents what she stands for, and he doesn’t know how to get over it.

“Clarke?” He asks, against his better judgment. 

“Go away, Bellamy.” She says, but her voice lacks its usual bite, which has him ducking under the flap in concern. 

The first thing he notices is the draft. His eyes are drawn to the top of her tent, where a large hole looms right over her, letting in all the cold air. The second thing he notices is the girl herself, curled in on herself, no blankets in sight.

“Goddammit, Clarke.” He curses loudly, taking three steps to cross her tent and get to her, reaching for her arm before he can stop himself. She’s _freezing_. “What the fuck are you thinking? Where are your blankets?”

“Jasper--” She starts, her teeth chattering. “Jasper needed one. He needs it more than I do.” 

“Fuck that. You’re our only doctor, Clarke, what are we supposed to do if _you_ die of exposure?”

“I’m not going to die.”

“Damn right you’re not,” Bellamy mutters, before he bends down to pick her up, ignoring her yelp. “We’re going to my tent, where I have blankets, and it’s not negotiable.” 

“You can’t just haul me around like some kind of--”

“I can, and I will. You’re not going to freeze to death when we have enough blankets to go around. God. What were you thinking? Were you even going to sleep?” 

He thinks she would be blushing if she had any color left in her face, so he takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. He gets to his tent quickly, and ducks inside, depositing her on his bedroll with a sigh. He grabs the few blankets they had left after everyone else grabbed one from the supply depot, and he drapes it over her, tucking it in under her feet. 

Quickly, he strips his jeans, leaving him in only a t-shirt and his boxers, and climbs into bed next to her, hissing at the cool air. He finds the other blanket near his feet and tugs it over himself, then reaches for her, pulling her tight to his chest. His arm goes around her, and tucks the opposite edge of the blanket around her shoulders, effectively cocooning her in with him. 

She’s shivering more now, and he shushes her when he hears a whimper escape her, probably at the pins and needles feeling he’s sure she’s getting in her hands. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” he whispers, not really aware of what he’s saying to her. 

The idea of Clarke freezing to death in her tent while she stays silent infuriates him, on a deep level that he’s not ready to acknowledge yet. 

“You were supposed to bunk with someone if you didn’t have enough blankets,” he chides her, gently. “You can’t just freeze to death because you think you’re being noble.” 

“I wasn’t trying to commit suicide by hypothermia.” She tells him dryly, and he has to smirk at that, because if she’s getting her humor back, it’s got to mean she’s getting better.

Pulling back, he notices some of the color has returned to her cheeks, but he can’t get himself to stop rubbing her back, trying to coax her nerves back to life. “You need to be more careful.”

“I can handle it, Bellamy.” 

He snorts. “Clearly.” He tries and fails not to notice how she seems to burrow her way closer to him under the blankets, the crown of her head touching his chin. “You’re too charitable sometimes, Clarke.”

Clarke sighs. “Please don’t come after me for this again. I don’t want to get in this argument with you again.”

“God knows you’re a better person than I am, but you can’t sacrifice your health for everyone else.” Bellamy continues, ignoring her.

Bellamy’s fought with Clarke about this more times than he can count, and it makes him grind his teeth. He doesn’t understand why she’s so reckless with her own life. Well, he does, and that almost makes it worse. Clarke is so reckless because she cares about other people more than herself, and if Bellamy didn’t find it so infuriating, he would find it endearing. 

“Bellamy--”

“Just…” Bellamy trails off, sighing. “Just go to sleep, Clarke.”

Her breathing slowly evens out against his skin and he tugs her closer selfishly, liking the way she fits up against him, the heat of her as her body warms up making him shiver.

.

.

.

The next night, he wakes her up again, hushing her as she looks around blearily, her hand barely missing the knife he knows she keeps tucked under her bedroll. 

“It’s just me.” He tells her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet.

“What’s going on? Is it Grounders?”

He bites back a smile. “No. You have a hole the size of this planet in the roof of your tent, so you’re bunking with me.” 

“We’ve talked about this. I can handle myself.” 

Bellamy tilts his head, barely able to keep the fond smile off his face. _God_ , he thinks. When did this start happening? When she looked at him with those eyes of hers and swore that she needed him? “What are you going to do if it rains?”

Clarke scoffs. “It’s not going to rain.”

Bellamy can’t help it; he laughs. “What, never? You think it’s _never_ going to rain.” 

Clarke plants her hands on her hips. “You can’t just force me out of here, Bellamy! You can’t evict me out of my--”

“Don’t talk to me about getting _evicted_ , Princess.” He snaps, harsher than he’s spoken to her in a very long time. He can’t stop the words coming out of his mouth, her words conjuring memories that he can taste like ash in his mouth. “I’m trying to help you, trying to make sure you don’t freeze to death or get rained on, but if you don’t want my help, _fine_.” 

He stomps away, fully aware with every step that he’s being childish, that he’s letting her stubborn streak get to him in a way it hasn’t for months now, but he can’t bring himself to stop, or turn around and apologize, so he keeps going.

He’s on edge for the whole next day, snapping at everyone and even causing Fox to cry, and while he instantly softens and apologizes, he can’t help the nagging feeling under his skin that tells him he won’t feel better until he talks to Clarke. 

She avoids him at dinner and avoids him during the evening briefing, only looking at him when she specifically needs his input on something. Otherwise she talks right through him, and no one else says a word, not when the tension in the tent could be cut with a knife. 

After everyone files out, he catches Clarke by the elbow, sighing when she rips her arm out of his grasp. 

“What do you want?”

“Sleep in my tent, Clarke.” He tells her, his voice weary. “It’s too cold for you to stay in yours.” 

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll stay with Raven, or something.” 

“What, her and Finn?” Bellamy bites out, struggling to keep his voice neutral. “That should be a good time for all three of you. No tension there at all.”

“Better than bunking with you.” She says, and she doesn’t even say it with any venom. She says it in a detached tone, like it’s a fact, and that’s what cuts Bellamy to his core. 

He laughs bitterly. “Right. I’ve got patrol. Don’t die in your sleep.”

“Whatever, Bellamy.” 

Bellamy leaves the tent, his expression dark. It hasn’t been like this for a long time. They’re purposefully saying things with the intent to hurt, and he doesn’t know how to stop this cycle they get in sometimes. All over something as silly as Clarke having a hole in the roof of her tent.

.

.

.

When Bellamy gets back to his tent, it’s in the early hours of the morning, and he’s exhausted. He wants nothing more than to sleep for the next six hours in peace, but when he gets his boots off and starts to crawl under his furs, he stops when he hears rustling outside his tent. 

Pausing, he reaches for his gun where it’s tucked away with his clothes, and creeps to the flap of his tent, pulling it back carefully. Aiming, he steps outside swiftly, colliding with Clarke, who grips his arm with a squeak. 

“Jesus Christ, Clarke.” He curses, lowering the gun. “I could have hurt you.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Clearly not.” 

They both fidget for a moment, neither one of them wanting to be the first one to speak. Bellamy thinks he knows why Clarke is here, but doesn’t want to push her. 

“You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?” She asks with a sigh, as if she’s reading his mind. 

Bellamy holds back a grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Clarke looks upwards, as if trying to summon some heavenly power to give her strength for what she’s about to do. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Are you sure? I heard a rumor that Raven has room--”

“I’m going to murder you.” 

Bellamy laughs. “Just get inside before you freeze.” 

They both fumble awkwardly around each other for a moment as they get under the covers on Bellamy’s bedroll, the task made harder now that Clarke seems to be fully aware of every place where their bodies touch. Bellamy has to remind himself not to shiver when her bare arm comes in contact with his chest, the heat of her searing right through him.

“I’m sorry, you know.” She says once they’re settled. “I just… I don’t like asking for help.”

“To be fair, I didn’t really give you much choice.” Bellamy replies. “I’m sorry too.” 

“I don’t-- before we got sent down here, my Mom told me that my first instinct would be to look after everyone else.” 

Bellamy nods. “That’s a good thing, Clarke.”

“Yeah, but you were right. I need to look out for _me_ too.” 

“That’s what you have me for.” Bellamy blurts, without thinking. Eyes wide, he looks at her, hating himself for not putting a filter on his own words. “I just-- I didn’t mean--”

“Bellamy, shut up.” Clarke says, but she’s smiling, so he tells himself it’s a good sign. He takes it as an even better sign when she throws an arm over his waist, tucking herself into his side seamlessly. “Go to sleep.” She whispers, and her breath fanning over his skin is the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep.

.

.

.

The first thing Bellamy is aware of when he wakes up is that he’s _warm_. Frowning, he pulls his arm out from under his blankets and sighs in relief at the cool draft that sweeps across his skin. The second thing Bellamy is aware of is the weight resting across his chest, and he flexes his right arm, tugging that weight closer to him as he gets comfortable. 

_Clarke_ , his mind supplies, and he smiles softly when she stirs but doesn’t wake up, her nose pressing into his neck as she shifts around. 

He’s comfortable, warm and well-rested, and he doesn’t want to get out of bed, ever. It’s a selfish thought, one that he doesn’t usually allow himself to dwell on, but he can’t help it. This early morning with Clarke curled around him in his tent is something straight out of his fantasies for his future, and he doesn’t want to let it go. He doesn’t want to let _her_ go. 

“Bell?” She croaks, and his heart stutters at the nickname. “What--”

“Shh,” he shushes her, “it’s too early. Go back to sleep.” 

“I have to get to the medbay.” She argues, but makes no effort to get out of bed. 

“It’ll keep until the sun comes up.” Bellamy says softly, barely stopping himself from pressing a kiss to her exposed shoulder. 

“You’re warm.” She tells him drowsily. “Feels nice.” 

He hums in agreement, pulling her tighter against him. “Stay a little bit longer.” He says, allowing himself his moment of vulnerability with her. 

“M’kay,” she agrees, and nestles closer, her legs intertwined with his and her hand resting right over his heart. 

He wonders absently if she can feel it pounding. 

Later, as they both drift off to sleep, he tells himself that it’s just concern for her that has these warm feelings thrumming through his veins. He also tells himself that it’s just fear that she’ll get seriously sick if she stays in her tent that has him tugging her bedroll into his tent and placing it right next to his. He tells himself it doesn’t mean anything that even with her bedroll there, she always ends up pressed up right against him the next morning.

He also tells himself it doesn’t mean anything to him when she presses her lips to his collarbone one morning when she thinks he’s still asleep, before she gets up for her shift on patrol. 

He can’t tell himself anything, though, when she finally _finally_ presses her lips to his one early morning when they’re talking about hunting schedules. She doesn’t pull away right away, either, instead prolonging it. His mind buzzes with awareness when her hands slide into his hair and his around her waist, and his mind is electrified when she sighs his name as his kisses drift to her jaw and neck. 

When she starts bringing more and more of her things into his tent, he tells himself it doesn’t mean anything, but he can’t lie to himself when she tells him in the middle of an argument, _you better get used to having me here, Bellamy Blake, because you’re not kicking me out now_. 

He sleeps better when he doesn’t have to worry about how she’s faring all alone in her tent with the hole in it, and he sleeps better with the reassuring sound of her breathing next to him all night. 

He’s starting to think he’s going to miss winter, and that’s something he never thought he would say. 

“Your hands are freezing,” she complains when he comes back to bed after taking care of an argument between Fox and Harper. 

“Warm them up, then.” He tells her, cheekily, dodging a slap. He sighs when she presses a kiss to his hands. “I love winter.” 

Clarke laughs. “You’re such a liar.” 

He can’t bring himself to respond, not when she’s laughing and looking at him with sparkling eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Clarke.” He says, shutting his eyes and falling asleep with a fond smile stretched across his face.


End file.
